OF the Past—of those that come no more— Of the feet that tread the door-sill no more of the eyes we no more can look into— The sound of the voice so longed for, but it is not heard, The one human form sought for over all the world, in all the throngs of cities, by sea-coasts and bays, over fax continents and islands, Among all the habitations of the stars, bat it is not there— Of the self swooning down, dying utterly, Of love, love, without end and without beginnings, Visiting all mortals, the sum of human life, With wings like a vast bird passing in the night—veiled awful form so close, yet impossible to detain: Why dear face so white in the night—so white in the moon's faint light as it steals along the hill-top— Dear face gazing up into mine, dost thou remind me? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INDIA WHARF by SARA TEASDALE BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES by FRANCOIS VILLON A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING LINES WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT ELBINGERODE, IN HARTZ FOREST by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE CRADLE SONG AT TWILIGHT by ALICE MEYNELL MOONRISE AT SEA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |